


Loose Lips

by unbreakable_femme_fatale



Series: Lucy [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, FBI, Father/Daughter, Female Shawn Spencer, Feminism, Genderbending, Insomnia, PTSD, Shassie, Shawn is a girl, but also not really, dance, fem!shawn spencer, kind of a case fic?, loose cannon, loose lips, psychic detective, snarky Spencer, strained father/daughter relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_femme_fatale/pseuds/unbreakable_femme_fatale
Summary: Carlton Lassiter knows--specifically, that Shawna Spencer knows and can do a lot more than she lets own.Unfortunately for Shawna, there is a reason she keeps her abilities a secret--her past is a landmine and she's determined to keep it hidden.But loose lips sink ships, and her past is catching up to her.Sequel to Loose Ties.(Will edit tags later)(Possible Criminal Minds cameo)
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter/fem!Shawn Spencer, Gus & Shawna
Series: Lucy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1239008
Comments: 44
Kudos: 119





	1. An Unfortunate Mix Up

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I have gotten around to posting this. Updates might be sporadic for a few weeks, but I hope this work will be satisfying to you. As always, this is a plot bunny crazed mess. Kudos and comments mean the world to me, so don't forget to let me know what you think--but most of all, enjoy!

The warehouse smelled musty and dank, the quintessential meeting place of rival gangs and drug runners. There was no truly covert attempt to hide the group meeting--boxes stacked in obvious patterns hid from the eye the center of the criminal activity--namely drug deals, run by the drug kingpin of southern California. But that wasn't what Shawna was interested in. In truth, she could care less about the heroin being exchanged or even the contaminated fentanyl. She didn't mean to be callous--she certainly wasn't insensitive to the devastation left in the wake of such deadly drugs. But that wasn't what she was here for.

She was here for the little girl caught in the middle. 

Shawna peered through the crates, observing the milling around of individuals who ranged from jacked to looking like they already were on death's door, the skin sagging under its own weight and sickly pale. She was also certain several of their members were still under the influence of whatever drugs they injected, shot, smoked, or whatever new debauched way they had come up with getting drugs in their system. In a word, Shawna wasn't worried.

Gus was.

"Shawna, we need to call Lassie and Jules," He hissed, grabbing onto her elbow and trying to tug her away.

"Right," Shawna said, nodding her head firmly despite not moving. "Or," she added, drawing out the word, "I take out some bad guys and you grab the girl. Let's go!" 

She was about halfway up from her crouched position when Gus roughly jerked her down again. "Are you crazy? Look at them," He said, gesturing wildly to the shady individuals in question. "You can't take out all of them!"

"Gus," she replied, whilst rolling her eyes, "they're druggies. If they even have any strength left in them, their brains are fried and I can outsmart them anyway."

"How do you know? Isn't it some kind of rule that you don't sample the product?"

"No, they all have lacerations on their arms, yellowed teeth, bad gums, the whole eye thing--druggies. Go get the girl!" This time, Gus couldn't stop her as she sprang up, still out of eyesight to her targets as she moved stealthily forward. 

She heard Gus curse under his breath, but he was dutifully creeping the other way. All Shawna needed was to get them apart.

She craned her neck, looking back over at Gus. Luckily, he was still slinking down the row of boxes. She stuffed her hand into her pocket, grabbing her phone and then texted Gus, _call my phone_. 

Gus frowned as his phone lit up his pocket, looking over at Shawna with furrowed eyebrows. She motioned wildly with her hands, and he looked down.

Of course, once he read the text he looked about ready to bust. _What? Are you crazy?_ He mouthed. 

Of course, Shawna wasn't very good at reading lips, but she thought she got the gist. _Just do it!_

Quickly, she turned her phone's volume to full blast, wedged it between the boxes, and then ran around the subsequent aisle. She positioned herself, every muscle tensed, ready to leap.

And then, an especially obnoxious rendition the theme song to _Mission Possible_ started blaring.

"Who's there!" A booming voice echoed, before there was a stampede of footsteps.

Shawna, of course, was grinning.

_Wait for it._

_Wait for ittttttttttt…_

As soon as they rounded the corner, she vaulted herself over the crates, kicking one of the more sickly men down immediately. The rest were slow to respond, which gave her time to launch at her next victim. 

Two came directly at her, but she was ready. Duck, roll out, dodge. She was on her feet again, leaped on to the bigger goon, and, using her own weight, pulled them down to goon two, who she latched on to until were in a pile.

Except her, who was up before she completely hit the ground. Men were belatedly going for their guns, but she stayed low and took out her next target, sweeping her leg out to knock his own out from under him.

Everything she did, she did in perfect sync, her body working as her weapon as she took them out one by one. For a few moments, in one of the extreme rarities, her mind quieted.

She had one mission, and she was at peace with it.

She rolled out, latching onto an outstretched, gun laden arm and leaped up and around him. 

One, twist. Two, lock thighs. Three, swing down.

Four, roll out and up while the druggie was still dazed on the floor. 

And then slide down, in between the legs, and go for the cheap shot.

It worked.

There was only two more to go.

Unfortunately, those two seemed well built and of some semblance of a sane mind.

But who was Shawna if she wasn't Loose Cannon Lucy? 

She grinned manically, keeping her body low against the ground. "Hello boys," she said, attempting something akin to a sultry voice, but held too much giddiness for it properly to be labeled as such.

The men paid no heed to her voice. They didn't need to. 

They had their guns trained on her.

"Get up!" One of them barked, an ugly tattoo twisted against his cheek contorting to something even more monstrous when he spoke. Wincing, she held her hands up in surrender, carefully rising to her feet.

"Okay, you got me. Guess my Lara Croft impression got out of hand. Honestly, I just…"

"Shut up!" The man screamed, looking like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The other man, only slightly less volatile began to scoot in front of her, his brows furrowed and completely unconcerned about his drugged up, groaning comrades.

Still, she wasn't worried. She wasn't grinning, but she wasn't worried. 

These guys were idiots.

As one circled in front of her, the other pressed the barrel of his gun against her back.

There it was.

Idiots.

It didn't seem like time slowed down. If anything, it sped up, the sweat dripping down her neck falling at double speed.

She spun around, locking her hand against his arm to direct the gun away from her. He shot.

The bullet winged his partner.

The struggle lasted mere moments. By sheer nature of surprise, she was able to swing around him, her hand still clutching his wrist until she drew blood.

One, two. Beat.

She kneed him in the chest. He crumpled over, and then she struck the sensitive back of the neck. Down and out.

She retrieved his gun, shot the remaining partner (without killing him, she might add), and then she grinned again.

"Shawna!"

_Gus._

For one moment, it felt like she was having a heart attack. Her heart leapt to her throat, and her skin grew a shade paler. "Gus! Did you get her!"

"Yeah!" Gus yelled back, his head poking around the corner, until, seeing the state of the men around them, he fully stepped out, revealing a Latina child that was perched on his hip. "Let's go!"

Shawna took off like a shot, landing an occasional stray kick in defense before emerging again into the brisk night, the sweat seeming to freeze onto her skin.

The three made quite the trio--Gus, running as fast as he could, looking like a crazed mother as the child perched precariously on his hip, the child herself, tears running down her cheeks and teeth chattering, and Shawna, who seemed absolutely manic, her strands of hair sticking wildly out of her ponytail (which had long since lost all sense of tightness, and hung limply against her shoulders), eyes bright and wild, and skin flushed from her excursion.

The car was parked at the end of road. If it weren’t for the nature of their misison, she was sure Gus would have demanded the car would be parked _much_ further away (company car, and all that). 

_Almost there._

_Just a few more yards._

_One, two…_

“Going somewhere?” 

The little girl--Maria Santana--screamed. 

As for Shawna, when she turned around to see the owner of the deep throaty voice, it wasn’t the big muscular man that scared her. It was the big, big gun. 

“Okay, hold on,” Shawna said, completely out of breath. Slowly, she raised her hands in the air. “I just went all Black Widow on those guys back there, and I’m---exhausted. So, let’s just call it a truce…” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he growled. “Put ‘em up.” 

“But they are up?” 

“Shawna,” Gus hissed, slowly putting the girl down and jerking his head toward her.

“Good point,” Shawna acquiesced, wiggling her fingertips. “So what can I do you for?” She squinted, putting one foot forward.

“Hey! Stay where you are!” He growled, and she just nodded her head.

“Okay, that’s fair. You don’t want me to move forward, and I don’t want you to shoot me. What do you saw we cut a deal?” 

“Give me the keys,” He replied, jerking his head towards Gus. 

“How would you know Gus would have the keys?” 

“Shawna!” Gus snapped. “Look, it’s a company car…” 

“Key!” He yelled, gesturing with his weapon, which prompted Gus to start desperately fishing through his pockets. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, somewhat desperately, his hands shaking as he held out the keys. 

“Throw ‘em.” 

Unfortunately, Gus’s shaking hands weren’t exactly made for pitching. His terrified toss meant the keys fell barely a foot in front of him with a pathetic clang.

Simultaneously, every pair of eyes were drawn to the keys. 

There it was again--Shawna's heart was beating in her ears.

"Pick it up!" He growled, jerking his gun towards them.

The sudden movement caused her gut to lodge itself in her throat. Without a second thought she slid in front of little Maria, her own body shielding the tiny girl. "Okay, okay," she said, her hands lifted up in surrender. "I got it."

She stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, and bent down to get the keys. Each movement was smooth, melting seamlessly into the next, nothing to draw the eye towards her or garner alarm.

And it just so happened that when she stood up, the gun was a little too close.

In a whipping motion she shoved the gun to the side, uppercut his jaw, and slammed his head against the hood of his car so hard his eyes glazed over.

"Nice one!" Gus said, pumping his fist in the air. "Now lets go!"

But Shawna's eyes were locked on something.

One. The safety was on.

Two. His arms were clean. 

His supposed comrades' were scarred by needlemarks. 

_Dang it._

"Hey Gus," she squeaked, "I think I just knocked out an undercover cop.

The Santa Barbara Police Department was buzzing with activity. They were on the precipice of taking down one of the major leaders in drug trafficking in the greater Santa Barbara area. Everything just needed to go according to plan.

Of course, crime didn't come to a screeching halt because some detectives were about to make the drug bust of their lives, which was why Detective Carlton Lassiter was pouring over witness statements from an attempted murder.

"Carlton," Detective Juliet O'Hara said, her heels clicking sharply on the floor as she covered the distance between them in wide strides. "We got a hit on one of the descriptions the witness gave--James Hannigan, and get this, he's been tried on four different assault and battery charges."

Before Juliet had even finished speaking, Lassiter had grabbed his suit jacket and hastily slipped it on. "Well, let's go pay Mr. Hannigan a visit, shall we?"

The two crossed the department towards the door, with Lassiter running through possible scenarios and theories in his head.

He was ready for a lot--he had seen a lot in his time at the Santa Barbara Police Department. He was expecting Hannigan to run, to attack--heck, maybe they would even have a good old fashioned shootout.

What he was _not_ expecting as he pushed open the front door was to find himself face to face with a startled Shawna Spencer and Burton Guster, dragging none other than a concussed Detective Ramsey behind them, and a scared little girl clinging to Shawna's legs.

Still, they recovered quickly, and both flashed the two detectives award winning smiles. "Hey!" They both said simultaneously, their voices taking on a sing song quality.

And then Shawna delivered the most unexpected news of all. "Sorry we knocked out your undercover cop!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was inspired by the episode "High Top Fade Out."


	2. Interrogations

"_We? We!?_”

“What?” 

“This is in no way a we situation! You knocked him out! I had nothing to do with it! Oh my gosh, I’m going to go to prison.” Gus slumped in the metal chair he was in, completely looking like the perpetrator ready to crack.

_Technically,_ they should have been in different interrogation rooms, except they weren’t really being investigated based on the events that had unfolded, and they were, in fact, just trying to give everyone space to cool down--and it just so happened that the best person to cool Shawna done was Gus. 

Even when Gus was freaking out. “Shawna, you have to flirt with Lassie.” 

“Excuse me?” Shawna stared at Gus, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “You want me to do _what_?” 

“Shawna, you know the brother never gets the not guilty verdict! And this is all your fault!” Before she could cut in, he began muttering to himself again. “Sure, pretty little white girl is going to be fine, but the black guy...Shawna, I’m not going to be able to make it in prison! You know I don’t do tattoos!” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Shawna!” Gus said, his voice bordering on yelling. “Are you not hearing me? You need to do something.” 

“Everything’s going to be fine…” 

“Go make out with Lassie.” 

If Shawna had been drinking something, it would have been a perfect opportunity to dramatically spit water everywhere. 

As it was, Lassiter, who was standing on the opposite side of the glass window in the interrogation room, was drinking coffee, and Juliet thought for a second he was actually going to asphyxiate on it. “Carlton!” She said, patting his back firmly as he sputtered. “Carlton, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly--albeit after several moments of collecting himself. 

Shawna did not have the same problem. “Seriously? That’s harrassment, and quite frankly, I thought you were better than that.” 

“Like you’ve ever had a problem with it before!” 

“Before!” Juliet gasped, the phrase coming out before she could stop herself. 

“I have never done anything of the sort, and that’s slander. Defamation!” She humphed, pushing herself back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “You know they’re probably listening in right now, right?” 

To that, Gus tilted his chin up, and stared right at the glass. “Hey Lassie! Lassie! Lassie!” 

While Shawna was busy hitting Gus’s shoulder, Juliet turned to Lassiter with a raised eyebrow. “Carlton?” 

“Don’t say it,” He repeated, his teeth gritted so hard Juliet wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them cracked. 

“Is there something going on between you two?” 

“Absolutely not!” Lassiter spat out, perhaps a bit too indignant for his own good.

And of course, Juliet, being the astute detective she was, immediately thought back to that night when Lassiter _refused_ to go to Henry Spencer’s house and Shawna seemed more off kilter than Juliet had ever seen her--at least, off kilter for Shawna. 

Juliet smirked, although she was stilll staring at the two bickering friends in the interrogation room. “It’s okay, you know. It’s normal. Opposites attract.” 

“And in what world would I ever be attracted to Shawna Spencer?” 

“This one?” 

Lassiter glared at her, the kind of glare that made most officers in the police station quake, but Juliet only smiled sweetly back at him. “I’m not…” 

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the outer corridor swung open, revealing the uncharacteristically frazzled Chief Karen Vick. “Are they still going to kill each other?” 

Lassiter cleared his throat, desperately willing his skin to return to its normal color, because he could just _feel_ the heat creep up his cheeks. “Yeah, they’re back to being idiots,” he said, jerking his head to the Shawna and Gus. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with our guy?” 

“Suspension, obviously,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “For now. Then he’s under investigation.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead before straightening up. “I don’t think the Santana’s are intending to pursue any kind of lawsuit. I just need to know Miss Spencer’s going to egg them on into one.” 

“She was just frustrated. It was the heat of the moment,” Juliet quickly cut in. “She didn’t mean anything by it. 

The _it_, of course, was not Gus’s crude comments referring to how Shawna was supposed to bail him out of their predicament--but what had happened thirty minutes earlier.

_Thirty Minutes Earlier_

Shawna none too ceremoniously shoved the irate officer to the two detectives, instead picking up little Maria Santana and perching her on her hip. Sure, she knew there would be repercussions, but they would have to wait. She had to do something else to take care of first.

The "something else" came from a sobbing mother, running past Lassiter and almost completely knocking him over. "My baby!" She cried, immediately taking Maria and crushing the tiny girl to her chest.

"Mama!" Maria said, openly crying.

Everyone in the station turned dumb foundedly as they stared at the scene, save Shawna and Gus. They were both smiling, Gus even shedding a few tears at the elated reunion.

Shawna herself felt a sense of complete serenity. Her usual manic nature faded easily, and for a brief moment, she was at one with the girl she once was, and reminded that that girl never truly left.

"I can't…" the woman choked out. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." For a moment, she tore her eyes away from her daughter to look at Shawna with tear filled eyes. "I can't ever repay you."

"Just live a good life for me."

"And stay out of trouble?" The woman said, a strangled laugh escaping her lips.

"Well, if you don't, call me," Shawna replied, her eyes twinkling.

Perhaps, if the Chief was right in their vicinity, she would have understood the depth of the moment. But she wasn't and thus her (in Shawna's opinion, very rude) interruption popped Shawna's bubble of serenity.

"Ladies and Gentlemen? A word?"

"How did she find out so fast?" Gus hissed, all while practically tugging Shawna forward. Shawna only shrugged her shoulders in reply, scowling.

The worse for the wear cop was the first in the office, slumping over in the chair while he held his head in his hands, no doubt from the pounding headache he was experiencing. The rest spilled in behind them, Juliet looking positively bewildered and Lassiter clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

"Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I'll tell you," Detective Ramsey said through gritted teeth. "This civilian just assaulted an officer of the law!"

"Technically, she assaulted and battered you," Gus corrected, to which Shawna shot him finger guns.

"Battered. That's a fun word, isn't it?" She said cheerfully, rocking forward on her heels. "Lassie, say battered ten times."

"I don't have time to deal with this," the Chief cut in, resting her forehead in her hands as if she was nursing her own headache. 

"Chief, it was self defense! How was I supposed to know he was a cop! He just came at me with a gun and demanded the keys to Gus's car!" Shawna protested.

"You can still be liable! These morons might have wrecked the whole sting operation!" Detective Ramsey snapped, although he immediately grimaced from the volume of his own voice.

"He has to stay undercover. He was doing his job, Miss Spencer! You've acted belligerently, and…"

"So, tell me, was he doing his job when he didn't report that they had kidnapped a five year old, or did you all just think that some gang chopping off her fingers was nothing compared to the precious little medals you'd get after you busted a small time drug ring?"

The room grew so quiet if so much as a pin dropped, it may as well would have been an explosion.

"Detective," Chief Vick asked, her skin noticeably paler. "Is that true?"

"I made a judgment call, Chief. You know on the field…"

"Detective, that's enough," Vick cut in quickly. "Miss Spencer, you went in to save a five year old girl?"

Shawna nodded her head soberly, anger still present in the creases of her face. "My client, Laura Santana contacted me and said her daughter had been kidnapped. Apparently her brother is in hot water with the Hoods, and they wanted to put pressure on her."

"And you didn't come to us because?" The Chief's usual indignation was dampered by the events that had occurred, and she sounded notably weaker.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders. "They told her if they saw a cop they would kill the girl. She didn't want to risk it. That and they say if she didn't meet a series of deadlines, they were going to start cutting off fingers."

"Oh my god," Juliet gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

“This is ludicrous!” He said, throwing his arms in the air. “This wasn’t some small town drug ring! Do you realize how many little girls _you_ put in danger?” He poked his finger at her, his eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what you’ve done! Like it or not, one little girl is nothing compared to what we could have had!”

“Are you serious?” There was a fury that lit in her eyes, the kind that Gus knew all too well, which was why he immediately grabbed onto her--just as her body was jerking forward.

“Really? Look, Chief, she’s clearly violent! She needs to be charged!” 

“Really? That’s what you have to say for yourself?” She hissed. “And damn right I’m still feeling pretty violent towards belligerent cops! You’re an accessory!” 

“I don’t need to say anything for myself! And you want to come at me, come on! You don’t have surprise on your side anymore!” 

At this point, Gus just shrugged his shoulders and let go of Shawna. 

But, before she could actually launch at him, and him at her, Lassiter and Juliet grabbed both of them respectively--with Lassiter twisting Ramsey’s arm behind his back so hard he was grimacing. 

“Get them cooled down!” Chief Vick ordered, pointing her finger to the door. “I’m not going to have a brawl in my office!” 

“Yes, Chief,” Juliet replied, although Shawna had long since relaxed her shoulders. 

After all, she didn’t _actually_ want to batter a cop. 

At least, she didn’t want to get charged with it.


	3. Dance like no one's watching, except when they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit, but I am back, after fulfilling various pressing responsibilities. And, in my spare time, I got to dive more into Shawna's character!
> 
> As you all know, I chose not to make Shawna a carbon copy of Shawn Spencer. There are a lot of reasons for this. One, because I am a different writer than the creators of Psych and my style and character development is different. Two, because as a woman--particularly a woman in law enforcement--she would have unique experiences that Shawn could never have, and they would have to affect her in some manner of speaking. And finally, because I changed her backstory, she herself had to be a bit different.
> 
> That being said, I am trying to still keep Shawna true to her counterpart in many respects, which has left me struggling to maintain a balance of rendering her as close to the show while not sacrificing her own uniqueness. This particular issue came out when I was choosing music for her, of all things. But it forced me to dig deeper, and while I am sure I am not done with the topic, I am happy with my progress.
> 
> If you read this far, congratulations, and I hope you enjoy this late night extravaganza of a writing adventure!

Shawna was barely three years old when she attended her first dance class. For most people, it would be too far back to remember, but she did. She remembered waddling into the studio, and the smell of hairspray, mousse, perfume, sweat, and the fruity smell of a Lipsmackers lip gloss that had spilled permeating the building. She remembered squatting down in a corner of the studio where glitter had gathered like dust would most anywhere else, her stubby fingers swirling it around until the teacher called her to the front and she learned how to plie. 

From then on, it stuck, like dance had ingrained itself in her. She never stopped--something Henry would grow to especially appreciate. The studio was a second home and a place she could leave family fights behind her. And later, when life threw different stresses her way, she would go back. In later years, she wouldn't be able to return to Miss Turner's Dance Studio as she traveled the country, so she got creative. She danced on beaches in Malibu, in abandoned buildings in Mexico, in motel rooms in Orlando. No matter where she was, it always had the same calming effect, as her mind returned to being at oneness with her body and she was able to be acutely aware of her own self.

So it was only natural, after rescuing a girl from a gruesome death and then having to defend herself from an ungrateful police department, that she would dance. And as much as she enjoyed getting creative with her dance spaces, it _was_ a relief to be able to go home.

The studio smelled exactly the same, right down to the fruity lip gloss. But, instead of the black duffle bag with the glittery pink stitching her mother had given her on her tenth birthday (which was stuffed away somewhere as a memento), she was armed only with a backpack, a clean pair of Nike's, black leggings and a Led Zeppelin tee shirt she deemed as appropriate dance attire.

Bailey Hudson was at the receptionist's desk--a too bright girl who Shawna had danced with in years past, and who always seemed to be right behind Shawna in group dances. Shawna was tempted to duck down and sneak into a free studio--but Bailey whipped her head up too fast.

"Shawna!" She squealed, despite the fact she had literally seen her a week ago. "It's so good to see you!"

"Yeah, you too," Shawna replied, offering a tight smile. "Is there a studio open?"

"2b. We should definitely get together again and create a piece. I’m just working right now and--” 

“Yeah, it’s a real bummer. Gotta go!” Shawna said flatly, not even bothering to look fully at Bailey and just waved a congenial goodbye before ducking into the studio in question. 

She sighed in relief as the door shut behind her, for a moment sliding down to the floor, closing her eyes and just allowing herself to _arrive_, to come into herself. 

The constant bombardment to her senses stilled, and the identities she had gathered for herself melted away. Runaway? Gone. Vigilante? Melted away. Nomad, FBI Agent, Private Investigator, Psychic Detective, disappointment to her father and absent to her mother, hero and savior and failure all wrapped in one, Black Widow and Columbo put together--she shed them all like one would shed their clothes. 

What she was left with was a naked soul, the complexities of her own character untangling and retying into a masterpiece. 

With a deep breath, she dug her phone and speaker out of her backpack, and set them up on a ledge conveniently located next to an outlet. 

In what would have been a surprise to anyone she worked with (save Gus, of course), was that the playlist she pulled out was not _Queen Michael Jackson_, or _Tears for Fears_.

She was putting on Tchaikovsky. 

To be clear, it was an acquired taste. When she was first taking ballet class, she wanted nothing to do with anything that wasn’t rock music. One might be able to describe some elaborate character evolution that caused her to appreciate that which had more depth, but the truth was that once when she was stretching into her oversplits, she rocked too hard to _Take on Me_ and pulled a muscle. Since then, she had taken to more peaceful music when she was trying to twist her body into a pretzel.

Granted, she wasn’t nearly as flexible as she was in her earlier, more tender years. The fact that she hadn’t decided to audition for the New York Ballet meant that she didn’t spend every waking moment trying to push chairs as close as she could while still maintaining her splits. She had maintained a stretching routine, because her flexible fighting style was basically her signature, so she still was able to melt into the splits after a few basic stretches. 

The 270 degree splits she used to do were a no go, though. 

Even with the slight discomfort that came with stretching herself, there was a certain peace in it, and she felt thoroughly soothed when she was done. Almost as soothing as that time she did yoga in Tibet--which was the only thing actually soothing about that trip. 

Then she took a deep breath, and turned her music to _She Used to Be Mine_, 80s rock exchanged for the soulful that she could pour herself out to. 

That was what she needed. She needed to express the look on Maria’s face, the utter terror, the anger in her own chest, the despair at watching the betrayal of her own department, the scars on her stomach, the monsters in the shadows, how _easy_ it was to slip back into what she was, but not far enough back, back when Gus and her would climb trees and try to jump off the roof using haphazardly built wings made from bird feathers they had collected after tediously combing the beach. 

Everything what was and would be.

She knelt down, before pressing play and truly letting it all go. 

Her body moved before her mind truly could. Slowly, her right foot floated in front of her, before she swept it around and back, her arm mimicking the movement. She closed her eyes, standing up, and then she danced. 

Not manic, not rushed, nothing like the Psychic Detective that she had shed when she stepped into the studio. She embodied something else entirely, as she danced and stopped in time with the music, flowing easily from one move to the next when the music called for it, and not when she needed to emphasize the beats. 

_She is good, but she lies  
She is hard on herself  
She is broken and won’t ask for help._

The turmoil presented on her face came from deep within her heart, her body representing it in kind as she stretched her leg in front of her, then swung it around to pirouette before finishing, allowing her body to complete the movement before transitioning to the next. 

She found her eyes opening and closing of their own accord, her eyelids fluttering shut as she easily flowed through a coupé turn, and then opening as she gracefully leaped through the air in a grand jeté. 

As the music grew more passionate, so did she, no longer held to balletic elements, but freely allowing her body to express its power, forcefully kicking and jumping with abandon, somehow maintaining a form of grace that was present in the most masterful fighter. 

She built to her climax, until finally, she found her arms floating down, and she was staring at herself in the mirror, the music gone. 

She felt lighter, the catharsis seeming to have successfully purged her soul of its darker elements. She smiled--not quite a grin, but softer in its nature, that somehow matched the dark baby hairs that had fallen out of her ponytail and curled around her forehead. 

She didn’t keep track of the time as she basked in the warmth in her body, so she didn’t exactly know how long it was after the music stopped that the door squeaked open. She whipped her head towards the sound, her body immediately going rigid. 

But nothing could have prepared her for the scene before her. 

Her eyes widened slightly, and his did in turn. “Abner?” She gasped out. 

“Shawna,” He whispered back. 

For a moment, she was back in high school, and they were practising their duet, and he had his hands on her hips, the warmth somehow suddenly still emanating under her skin…

She grinned. “Long time, no see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abner/Abigail anyone?


	4. Come On and Dance With Me

Abner looked good. He looked better than good--his tan skin had deepened, the contours of his face were more pronounced than they had been in his boyhood, his muscles clearly visible under his Under Armor shirt. He was that toxic mix of gorgeous and pretty and masculine that made Shawna feel a little like something warm was pooling in her belly. Underneath it all, there was still something familiar about him, but yet the hands that had held her hips so firmly in countless lifts weren’t quite the same, and he embodied the contradiction of the mysterious and the known. 

He looked different. He was a man. 

For some reason, she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of her--if she was a woman to him and different from the long haired girl who danced in old pointe shoes and then would run wild, barefoot against the soft dirt. (She wasn’t sure she _was_ that different, although she was hardened and in emotional turmoil, but she wondered if he saw something different.) 

It really was a good thing Shawna was so good at schooling her expression, because it just wouldn’t do if he knew what lay beneath that cocksure grin. 

“Shawna Spencer. In the flesh,” Abner said, breaking Shawna’s reverie with his own grin. “So, what brings you to Santa Barbara?” 

“I live here,” she retorted, her cheeks only slightly coloring from his look of surprise. 

“Really?” He replied, his head cocked to one side, something underlaying his tone that suggested what she was saying was simply unbelievable. “I thought when you left you would never come back.” 

_When she left._ That was one can of worms she didn’t particularly want to open, an insight to her past that wasn’t how she was painting her present. So she just shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “What can I say? Fate seemed to lead me back here.” 

“Do you teach here?” He asked, gesturing around the studio.

She laughed, suddenly picturing herself trying to herald three year olds into some semblence of a dance routine--_especially_ if those three year old held any resemblence to a baby Shawna. She shook her head, the stray hairs that had been plastered to her cheeks coming loose to sway lightly against her glistening skin. (Sweating, technically, but she found herself wanting to think of herself in only positive terms at that moment.) “No, I just come around here to dance and blow off steam.” 

“Then what _do_ you do?” He asked while bending down to take off his sneakers. It appeared, during the course of the conversation, that he had gotten the impression, since it was _Shawna_, he could use the studio, if not without her then certainly with her in it. On one hand, she found the idea not so bad--the other hand said she wanted to spill herself out and she couldn’t do that with Abner, but she was choosing to ignore that for the time being. 

“I’m a Psychic Detective,” She said, still keeping a tone of nonchalance. 

Abner stilled, his hands still hanging in the air, frozen in their place where he had previously been untying his shoe. Slowly, he tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowed together. “A _what_?” 

She used to be a FBI agent, there was no way she was letting him feel bad about her career choices, dang it! So she puffed out her chest, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips. “Psychic detective. I’m like a regular detective, but better at finding killers and a lot more glamorous.” 

The skin around the corners of his eyes crinkled as something akin to a smile spread across his lips, and he sat back on his haunches as he looked at her. “You’re serious.” 

“Dead serious. Pun intended,” she replied, breaking into a full on grin. 

“So you’re a psychic?” 

“I prefer certified Ouija Board, but basically.” 

“So what, you can suddenly talk to spirits?” 

“Nope. Always could,” she said, dropping down to the floor to be eye level with him. “I just didn’t share it so I wouldn’t have to deal with that disbelieving look in your eye, because quite frankly, it’s offensive,” she sniffed. 

He rose his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” 

She paused, taking another moment to drink him in, and she couldn’t help but be grateful that her cheeks were already flushed to hide the added color when she noticed he was doing the same to her. Suddenly, her head jerked up, and she forced a smile. “Want me to prove it?” 

“Be my guest.” 

What she did wasn’t about certainty, it was about coming to the most logical conclusion. There were virtiually in infinite amount of ways that something might occur, but she had to wheedle out what was most likely and stick to it like it was the gospel truth. Luckily, what she already knew of Abner was able to be factored into her calculations, but she had to recognize even that may be faulty information. People change. 

He looked awake, yet there were still bags under his eyes. The bag he had on his shoulder was gently pressed down, like it had recently been taken out of a packed container where it had been squished down to make room for other items. For a brief moment, a notification popped up on his phone.A text from Avery Hunt, who Shawna knew was a real estate agent from a previous case she had worked.

“You just got into town, and you had to cross a few time zones. Probably from New York. You came into town to close on a house, so I guess you’ll be sticking around. And,” She said, her eyes twinkling, “you want to dance with me.” 

There was a beat where he had the good conscience to look surprised, his eyebrows shooting up as she hit the nail on the head. Then, he smirked, his face relaxing. “Is that so?” He said, his voice low. “Well, what can I say? Not every day you meet a dancing psychic.” 

“At most, it’s a once a month activity,” She concurred, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Okay, psychic,” He said, holding his hands up. “May I have this dance?” 

She didn’t respond, just rested her hand on his, his free hand moving to her waist and hers to his shoulders. “Siri,” He said, keeping his eyes on her, “play ‘Thinking Out Loud.’” 

They began to glide across the studio floor. At first, they settled into laughingly easy steps, as if testing whether or not they remembered how to move together. But even if her mind hadn’t remembered every single step from younger years (she did), her body seemed to instinctively know where to go. Soon, they were not so much gliding as they were floating, and between his touch and the way the music sunk into her bones, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. 

He picked her up and she immediately spread her legs into double stag, one hand around his neck as he easily spun with her. Their eyes locked, and her breath caught in her throat--those hazel eyes with explosions of gold within them mesmerized her, and it took a moment for her to comprehend that he had set her down. But once again, her body knew, and they moved seamlessly through their own improv, her trusting him to take the lead despite the fact that she had fought her whole life to lead. 

Right as the music closed, her spun her to him and in one fluid motion lifted her, her hands on his shoulders as she looked down at him from her raised vantage point. Again, their eyes locked, but this time there was no music, no bodily demand to dance to interrupt them. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing harder or not breathing at all, and she didn’t know if that was what made her feel dizzy, but somehow she thought it had something more to do with the way he was looking at her and the way she was looking at him. 

“Come to dinner with me,” He said, breathless in a way that she knew had nothing to do with their dancing, and her heart fluttered with that knowledge. 

For a brief moment, blue eyes seemed to flash across her mind, a summer night on a police course where her chest was heaving up and down and _he_ was staring at her. 

But it was only a moment. Because then every deprecating comment came to mind, and sure, she knew she played herself as being reckless and only competent in the most unconventional ways, but it still, their relationship wasn’t completely healthy and she knew that and with the way her heart was pounding in her chest as she looked at Abner, she knew there was no question. 

“Okay,” She replied, but she couldn’t quite manage a cocky grin and instead had to settle on a delirious smile. And then he was smiling back at her, and the fluttering of her heart started anew until she was sure it might just float away from her. 

Slowly, he put her down, as if he didn’t really want to, and in truth she didn’t really want him to either. Still, he didn’t let go of her hand, instead raising it to his lips and softly kissing her knuckles. There was some smart remark on the tip of her tongue about the chivalrous behavior, but it seemed to die there, her lips instead tugging up yet further. “I guess we have a lot to catch up on.” 

“I guess we do,” she replied. She couldn’t help but feel the loss as his hand pulled away, but her smile never faltered. 

“Pick you up at seven?” 

“Sounds perfect,” She replied. 

And it did. It really, really did.


	5. Three Dots

James Hannigan, current prime suspect in the attempted murder of Avery Hilt (who had just emerged from the ICU only to state he never saw his attacker), was still in the interrogation room with the Santa Barbara Police Department when they got the call--this time, the murder wasn’t merely “attempted.” Jacob Shumaker had been killed in his own bed.

“Damn it,” Lassiter swore, his lips slightly curled as he pressed his forehead against his palms. 

“It gets worse,” Juliet said, her hip leaning against his desk. “James Hannigan has a solid alibi.” 

“Doesn’t Spencer always say there’s no such thing as a solid alibi?” He replied dryly. 

Juliet’s lips quirked up at that, and she just shrugged her shoulders. “Since when did you take tips from Shawna?” 

“I don’t,” He said gruffly, grabbing his suit coat before getting up. “Let’s get going to that crime scene.” 

Lassiter would have been content if the car ride had progressed in complete silence. In fact, he was always happy when little to no conversation occurred, but that day, when this did not happen, he was even more dismayed than usual.

“So, you want to explain to me what happened when Shawna and Gus were being held?” 

Lassiter grit his teeth. He was tempted to play dumb, but quite frankly he desperately did not want her to recount a play by play. “They’re idiots, end of story.” 

“Was it when you realized Shawna might not make it when she was abducted?” Her tone was surprisingly light considering the content, and she turned her body sideways to face him with a slight smile on her face. “Because I think that’s normal. Kind of a life or death revelation, right?” 

“No,” Lassiter replied curtly, his hands flexing against the steering wheel. “I have and never will have any feelings for Shawna Spencer. Except extreme annoyance,” He said, but it was more of an afterthought. 

Juliet hummed, but whether or not she was just trying to tease him or if she was truly not convinced he didn’t know. It was one of the many things Shawna Spencer had ruined--before the vivacious psychic detective, Juliet was completely content to keep a professional relationship, or at least she tried not to upset him, and definitely did not purposefully push his buttons. But as her relationship with Shawna progressed, it seemed the mischief was rubbing off on Juliet. He hated it. (Or at least that’s what he would keep telling himself.) 

He didn't think he had ever been so relieved to arrive at the scene of a murder when they finally pulled up to the yellow tape at the crime scene. He didn’t spare a glance towards his partner as he opened the door, his lips pressed tightly together in his own frustration. 

The house itself was fairly average, nice enough to indicate the owner was middle class but still fairly modest in its size. The yard was well kept, which lead Lassiter to deduce the victim must either have died recently or had a subscription to some sort of lawn maintenance service. Still, it seemed more likely that whoever also lived in the house would have discovered the body recently, as such a residence was clearly designed for more than one occupant in mind, and due to its middle class but no further status, the idea of a bachelor buying the house with no housemates in mind seemed unduly opulent. It was, by all counts, a desirable residence. 

Well, except for the yellow crime tape that currently surrounded the property. 

Officer McNab was the first to greet them, his smile too bright and cheery for an irritated Lassiter to handle. “Detective Lassiter!” 

“Just show me the damn body,” He replied, his teeth gritted together. And Buzz, who had known Lassiter for the majority of his own career, took the hint, dropped the smile and lead the pair of detectives into the house, Juliet shooting warning glares at her partner all the while. 

The trio trekked up the stairs of the house, where Buzz lead them into what was presumably the master bedroom. It was there that the body was located, sheets still crumpled around him in a manner that indicated use instead of a struggle. The only thing out of place were a few frames on the nightstand that were knocked over, the glass holding the picture splintered. “Who reported it?” Lassiter asked, not looking up at Buzz in favor of stooping down to get a better look at the unfortunate victim. 

“The wife. They’re seperated, and she had come to pick up a few of her things, and then she, well…” Buzz gestured awkwardly to the body, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. Who he was apologizing to was unknown, nor did Lassiter particularly care. The officer’s ticks, after all, were none of his own concern. 

Unfortunately, the man’s seperation from his wife was a possible explanation for the knocked over photographs and not a struggle before his untimely demise, but Lassiter would have to interrogate the wife to get a confirmation on that. However, it seemed to be the most likely scenario--based on the scene in front of Lassiter, it would appear the man died in his sleep. 

Which begged the question, why were they so sure it was murder? 

He was about to voice his thoughts before he thought better of it, irritating images of Shawna Spencer traipsing around various crime scenes and picking them apart dancing across his own mind. _She_ would pick up the answer right away, no questions asked. And maybe it was because of the conversation in the car, but he found himself desperately wanting to make sure there was no need for the psychic detective. 

Luckily, as his eyes roved down the body, the answer was clearly present on the inside of the man’s wrists. There, three black dots were present in a triangular pattern, and, after a very close inspection (and the redness surrounding said dots), Lassiter could pick out the injection sites in them. There was something about the design and the injection sites that bothered Lassiter, like there was something he was forgetting. It seemed vaguely familiar, although he knew with absolute certainty that he had never worked on a similar case. But, for the time being, he pushed that aside, something to be revisited later (and it _would_ be revisited, because he absolutely hated the unsettled feeling it gave him). For now, he would just work the case like he would any other. “So, drugs?”

“Or something,” Buzz replied, rather lamely. “We won’t know for sure before we get the body down to Woody.” 

“Alright. I want to be the first person to know when he gets something, got it?” 

“Yes sir!” Buzz said, nodding his head emphatically. 

“Good. Where’s our entry?” 

“Kitchen window.” 

Lassiter nodded tersely, and he caught Juliet rolling her eyes in his peripheral vision. At the moment, he really couldn’t be bothered by that, which was in no small part due to the fact that he was very annoyed with her. 

This was only exasperated when Juliet smirked mischievously and asked, “You think the Chief will call in Shawna and Gus?” 

At that, Lassiter turned around and rapidly walked to the kitchen.

No time to solve a case like the present, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what are your thoughts on Shassie? Writing this piece has left me somewhat torn, so I would love to know if you think are dear old Shawna should find a partner in someone. Love you all! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments; they keep me writing!


	6. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I'm going to try and get into a schedule and post once a week, but we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this late night mess?

Shawna tucked her legs into herself, resting her chin on her knees as her eyes stared at the merciless clock. _6:45._ She had been staring at that darn clock since it had read 6:20--which may not have been an exceedingly long amount of time, but for Shawna it may as well have been an eternity. The changing of the numbers seemed to drag on with every minute, until she was fairly certain ten minutes had passed in the span of one. 

It wasn’t that Shawna was _nervous_, exactly. Her life had held enough excitement that was of the life endangering sort that something as simple as date was nothing to get butterflies over. Yet, this time seemed different. There was an excitement pulsing through her, goosebumps covering her arms as she felt the charge in the air that she seemed to always sense before _something_ happened. It was like she was standing on the precipice of something, like something very important was about to happen. She couldn’t say exactly why it was that she felt this way--stolen touches between teenagers were so long ago they should have been a moot point. In the end, she supposed she could only boil it down to instinct. 

It was because of this instinct that she had spent an absurd amount of time deliberating in front of the mirror how she was supposed to present herself. She couldn’t help but remember that feeling of awe deep in her belly that she had felt when she saw him, a man and no longer a boy. Was it so much to throw aside the girlishness that still nestled itself in her heart so that he could feel the same way about her? But was that just putting on a persona, which would ultimately mean backing away from the precipice and wouldn’t that mean ensuring that nothing could happen that would change her life? 

But her nickname was Loose Cannon Lucy, dang it. If she could be a wild card in the field, then why was she overthinking this? 

Which was why she dressed the exact same way she always did--flattering jeans and a maroon, off the shoulder sweater. Okay, so maybe she passed on the Star Wars t-shirt. 

So there she was, decked out to the nines, and the only thing she could think to do to calm herself down was either to practice variations in her head or do a run down of former cases she had worked on. Needless to say, she went with the former. 

It was while she was in the middle of the Don Quixote variation that she finally heard a knock on the door. She jumped up, a grin spreading over her lips. Like that, all the nerves fled, and she practically ran to the door. 

Abner was stunning, as was usual. But what made him more stunning was the faint pink blush spread on the apples of his cheeks and the tiger lilies he held with an outstretched arm. “I was going to get you roses, but uh, I remembered that you liked tiger lilies. You still do, right? That hasn’t changed or anything…” 

“I love them,” she quickly replied. “They’re perfect.” 

“Oh, good.” He cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Well?” 

“Oh, right.” Despite her best efforts, a blush was beginning to form on her own cheeks, and she grasped the bouquet. “I’ll just put this in water. You can come in, if you want.” She opened the door wider, and he nodded, stepping inside. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” She said, grin returning to her lips. “Mi casa es su casa.” 

He loosened up slightly, the tension seeping out of his shoulders. He smiled, replying, “Granted, I don’t remember much of high school Spanish, but I’m fairly certain that’s pretty bold for a first date.” 

She threw back her head and laughed, leaning on the counter for a moment to catch a breath. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a key. I know it would be way too tempting for you to search my appartment to find out all my secrets.” 

“That was one time!” He said, voice rising slightly in pitch. “And it was just your dance bag!” 

“And it was still creepy as all get out. Seriously, who does that?” 

“I had just forgotten my water bottle!” 

“So you were going to drink mine?” 

He hummed in the affirmative, leaning up against the counter with her. “You don’t have a vase, do you?” 

“No,” She laughed, her blush returning as she looked down at the flowers in her hand. “But I do have a huge coffee mug that says ‘The best mom gets the biggest mug.’” 

He faltered for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. “Shawna, are you a…?” 

“Oh no,” She said, grin growing as she shook her head. “My mom got it for me when she decided she wanted grandkids. Can you get it for me? It’s in the cupboard behind you.” 

“I’m shocked. Shawna Spencer knows where something is?” 

“If it makes you feel better, I have no idea where the tazer my dad got me for Christmas is.” It was a lie--it was shoved into a safe at the back of her closet, right next to her gun safe. She stored all her weapons there and had asked Gus to set the combination. When she came back to Santa Barbara, she didn’t trust herself with them, and she still felt too uncertain to unlock them. It was just another thing she never told Gus but was something Gus knew about intimately. 

Before she could ruin her ruin her evening by going down that train of thought, Abner laughed. “You know, that does _not_ make me feel better.” 

“You’re very fickle,” she retorted. “I just can’t please you, can I?” 

“Naw, you please me just fine.” 

And dang it, there was that blush again. But before she could second guess herself, she held out her hand. “Well, what do you say Abs? Ready to wreck the night?” Abner stared at her, and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she faltered, biting her lip. “Do you not like being called Abs anymore?” 

“I believe the nickname you gave me was Abbie,” He snorted, and Shawna relaxed. “And normally I wouldn’t exactly like being called Abbie, but I think I can make an exception for you.” 

She positively beamed. “Okay, Abbie. Shall we?” 

“It would be my pleasure.” His arm slipped easily in her own, and her lead her out the door. “So, you’re not going to ask me where we’re going?” 

“I’m a psychic, remember?” 

“Oh, so you know where we’re going already?”

“Of course! I’m just keeping the illusion of the suprise.” 

“Oh, how generous of you,” He snorted. 

“Oh, it is,” She replied, her eyes twinkling as she turned her head to look at the expression on his face. 

Her heart almost stopped when she saw her expression mirrored in his. 

Given that Shawna wasn’t _actually_ a detective, she did not in fact, know for certain where they were going. But she had a pretty solid guess. 

She was right, of course. 

And that was how she found herself on a park bench on the boardwalk, her legs stretched over his. She was having a hard time keeping a handle on her hot dog as she started laughing hysterically. “So, are you seriously telling me this girl tried to get a role in the Nutcracker by giving the lead a smoothie stuffed with laxatives?” 

“Scout’s honor,” He replied. 

“You were never a boy scout.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing. Anyway, the whole thing was fishy, so we wouldn’t let the other girl play Clara. When the _next_ girl had the same problem, we knew what was going on.” 

“She’d make a terrible criminal,” Shawna replied, waggling her eyebrows. 

“Oh, definitely. She wouldn’t even get away with petty theft.” 

She hummed, taking another bite of her hot dog. “You know,” she said offhandedly, “you really haven’t changed.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re still a romantic. I mean, come on, bringing me down to the boardwalk and going to the same hotdog stand we went to all the time when we were kids? Not that I don’t appreciate nostalgia.” Her smile relaxed, and she looked at him fondly. “I mean, this is pretty much a perfect date.” 

He blushed, then scarfed down the rest of his hot dog. “Hurry up and finish your hot dog. We still have one last stop if we’re going to do this right.” 

“Soft serve?” She said hopefully. 

“Of course.” 

She grinned, and made quick work of her meal. And then the pair was off again. Abner was slightly disappointed that the old stand wasn’t there anymore, but Shawna just laughed and tugged his arm. “Come on, there’s another one by the pier.” 

Then they walked down to the end of the pier and hung their legs over the end as they licked their ice cream. The sky was an explosion of pinks and oranges and yellows, the ocean glittering under the colorful light. Soon the sun would set, and the the moon would rise in its place and create a pool of light over the ocean. She hoped they would stay until it did.

Shawna laid her hand over his, and he smiled at her. Shawna smiled in turn, and leaned her head against his shoulder as she began eating the cone.

“Shawna?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

There was an explosion of butterflies in her stomach, not out of nerves but out of a joy that was so deep it hurt. “Yeah,” She replied breathlessly. 

Cautiously, he used his free hand to cup the back of her head, drawing her closer until their lips were pressed against each others. It was soft and sweet, and everything she would want a first kiss to be. 

They lingered there for a long time, just relishing in the closeness. Finally, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed. “That was…” 

“Amazing?” He asked, sounding just as breathless she was.

“Perfect,” She replied. 

They sat in contented silence for a moment but then the blue light emitted from her phone and pooling around her pocket caught her attention. She frowned, and pulled it out. Thirty-four missed calls, all from Gus. “Hold on,” she said apologetically. “I’ve got a lot of missed calls from Gus.” 

“Guess you should call him back then,” He said, a touch of disappointment in voice. It warmed her from her core. 

“Yeah. It’ll be just a sec.” She took a step back from the edge, walking several paces before calling him back.

When he picked up, he didn’t even give her a chance to offer a greeting. “Shawna, you need to get to the office _right now_,” He said frantically. 

“Okay, calm down. What’s going on?” 

“We got a threat in the mail.” 

“Oh, well…” 

“It’s for SSA Spencer.” 

If Shawna’s life was a Lifetime movie, she would have dropped her phone.


	7. V stands for vendetta

“I’m so sorry, it’s an emergency…” 

“Oh no! Is there anything I can do?” 

“No, really, I have to figure this out on my own. Thank you though. I had a really good time. We can do this again, right?” Shawna asked hopefully, although if she was honest, she was only half listening. She was too busy running through every criminal she had put into prison, every one she had testified against, every family member and accomplice and _who knew she was a FBI agent?_ Still, she faked a smile, and he did too. 

“Yeah, of course. Call me?” 

“Of course!” Shawna said over her shoulder. She was trying to force herself to walk, even though all she wanted was to full out run to the Psych office. Her palms felt clammy, and nausea rolled over her. She was too cold and too hot all at once, her heart seizing in on itself. 

The evening brought a bustle of people down to the boardwalk, from vacationers to retirees who wanted to enjoy the sunset. So it was easy to get lost into the crowd, and once she had successfully weaved into the crowd, she _did_ break out into a full on sprint. 

It was a good thing the office was unlocked, because she couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have broken it down if it was. She stumbled inside, her face flushed and sweat pouring down her neck that couldn’t entirely be attributed to the temperature. “Gus?” She asked, her voice hoarse. 

Gus didn’t look up from his desk, his eyes fixated on a piece of paper. He looked like he had just thrown up, which, who knows, maybe he did. 

She grit her teeth, willing herself not to tremble as she walked to him and picked up the piece of paper. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, and he nodded his head, even if he didn’t seem at all convinced. 

_Do you know who I am, psychic? _

_I know who you are, SSA Spencer. We have a score to settle._

Her breath caught, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay. Okay,” she said, intentionally taking full, deep breaths. In and out, in and out. She hopped up onto the desk, narrowing her eyes as she tried to decipher the note. “I don’t recognize the handwriting, so... “ 

“What does it mean? I mean,” Gus huffed out, gesturing to the paper, “why would they leave a note?” 

“It’s a scare tactic,” she replied, her voice sounding far away. “So we know their MO isn’t just to kill me. Or us,” She said, her lips twisting in distaste. “It could be they’re all talk, and they aren’t actually going to escalate to crime. Maybe it’s family of someone I put away, or…” She frowned, setting down the note to run her hand through her hair. “I don’t know.” 

“What do we do?” 

She smiled weakly. “I’ll call Spencer, see if there’s any news on that front. Maybe--” 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

“I didn’t suggest that.” 

“But you were thinking it,” Gus said, his voice hard. “We could leave together, though. For awhile. Until it calms down.” 

“If whoever this is is actually a danger,” She replied, pointing to the offending note, “they’ll just follow us. If we seperate, they’ll just go after me instead.” 

“So they’re going to go after both of us,” Gus said, shrugging his shoulders, a clear dismissal of her previous suggestion. “It’ll just be two against one.” 

“If there’s only one of them.” She raised an eyebrow, almost willing him to actually agree for once and get out of dodge. 

“Thanks for that.” Gus rolled his eyes, pushing back on the desk before fully standing up. “Why don’t you call Spencer, like you said. We might have a better idea of what we’re dealing with then.” 

“Hopefully,” she agreed, digging into her pocket to retrieve her phone. 

For one moment, she paused as her finger hovered over the contact. She had never changed his name. _Spencer loml_. Her heart stuttered, a heaviness filling her as she thought back to a mere hour ago, and then the last kiss she had shared with her old colleague. But there was no time for that, and she was pretty good at compartmentalizing. 

Her phone had rung two times before Spencer picked up. “Shawna?” He said, sounding apprehensive.

“Hey Spence,” She said, smiling. 

“Oh thank God.” 

“Were you expecting someone else?” 

“Look, last time I was contacted from this number, you were being tortured.” 

“Good times,” Shawna snorted. “Look, I need a favor.” 

“Anything.” 

“I got a note from someone--someone who knows I used to work with you guys. Apparently they’re holding a grudge. Has anything been happening on any of the old cases I worked?” 

There was a pause. “I can see if Garcia can look into it,” He replied, his voice steady, each word measured, “but there’s nothing that’s been brought to our attention. I’ll look into it too. Look, Shawna…” 

“I’m _fine_,” Shawna cut in firmly. “I can take care of it.” 

“Shawna, it’s okay to get help.” His voice was painfully soft, and Shawna felt something akin to guilt roiling in her gut. 

“I know. But I’m okay. Really. I just need to take care of this without any fuss so I can maintain my cover. Just let me know if anything shows up on your end?” 

“Of course. Anything.” 

“Oh, and don’t tell Rossi please? I don’t need Papa Bear right now.” She smirked in spite of herself, and Gus rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure.” Spencer replied. “Just take care of yourself?” 

“Naw, that’s what Gus is for. Love you!” 

“Love you too,” He replied, and she grinned. “Stay in touch?” 

“Will do. I’m okay. Really. Oh, and Spencer?” 

“Yeah?” 

“When you tell Garcia, can you maybe not mention the note?” 

“Why, you don’t want Garcia to pull you back over here by your ear?” He replied dryly. Shawna giggled, not even sorry when Gus glared at her. She just shrugged her shoulders, grinning at him cheekily. 

“Exactly. I’ve got to go. Gus looks like he wants to kill me.” 

“Doesn’t he always?” 

“Very funny.” 

“Keep me updated?” 

“Of course. Love you!” 

“Love you too.” 

She smiled, for one single moment forgetting the very real threat as she hung up. At least, she did until she met Gus’s eyes. He clearly could not forget. 

“So we know nothing,” He huffed, beginning to pace between their desks. 

“That’s not true. We know that whoever wrote this has a vendetta against me. We also know that I’ve never seen their handwriting before. So, I’ll make a list of people who fit the bill, and then we’ll narrow it down by location,” she responded. “Then I’ll find a way to bring it under federal jurisdiction,and we’ll hand the perps over. Easy.” 

“Easy?” Gus replied, a hint of scoffing in his voice. “Look, I get that you’re good at your job, but you’re only one person.” 

“What exactly are you saying?” Her tone held a sharp edge it, and she pressed her lips tightly together. “I’m not calling in the SBPD.” 

For a moment, it looked like Gus wanted to argue. But he knew Shawna, and he also knew a losing battle when he saw one. And, as the level-headed, decidedly not loose cannon of the pair, he recognized that now was not the time to be fighting. “Okay. But if we’re going to stick around here and investigate this ourselves, we need backup.” 

For one single moment, she looked at him blankly. 

And then she grinned, a positively devilish twinkle in her eye. In fact, it seemed as though the entire room was filled with manic energy she was emitting, and Gus cringed on instinct. 

After all, this particular brand of crazy always meant trouble.   
“You mean…” 

He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “God, I’m going to regret this.”


	8. The Illuminati Did It

_Three dots. Three dots...a triangle. Three points. A pyramid? The Illuminati symbol?_

Of course, Shawna had thrown the word “Illuminati” no less than ten times during past cases. One memorable case involved her claiming the Illuminati was controlling the mayor. He was actually being blackmailed by a wealthy businessmen, and supposedly the wealth equalled dollar bills which equalled the all-knowing eye, and then...boom. Illuminati. 

Needless to say, the innocent musing snapped Lassiter out of his trance. Which was just as well, because if he stared any longer at the dumb autopsy photos, he was certain his eyes were going to fall out. 

_Three dots. Three dots. Three dots._

He didn’t bother looking up when he heard the familiar tap of heels approaching his desk. “Carlton…” 

“Do you have anything for me?” He said gruffly. 

“We got the toxin report back.” She slapped the official sheet of paper over the photos, forcing Lassiter to look up at her--albeit with a glare. She’d take what she could get. “Get this. He had arsenic in his system.” 

“Arsenic?” Lassiter’s eyes widened, momentarily forgetting his previous frustrations. “But we usually see that as ingested.” 

“Yeah. His stomach contents held high quantities of it. Woody doesn’t think anything was actually injected at the injection sites.” 

“Not even air?” 

“No signs of an air embolism,” Juliet replied, shrugging her shoulders. 

He grinned. Honest to goodness grinned, which may have been disturbing considering the circumstances but Juliet was just counting her blessings that he wasn’t trying to break out any tap dance moves (_thanks a lot, Gus._) “Looks like we need to take a closer look at where he was getting his food.” 

And then the door to the station opened, and Lassiter’s good mood was immediately quashed--or at least, transformed to something else entirely and he did _not_ want to think about that. 

“Lassie!” Shawna yelled, practically skipping over to his desk with Gus trailing behind her. “What do you got for me?” 

He smacked her hands away before she could pick up any of the reports, which resulted in her pouting at him. “What are you doing, Spencer?” He asked between gritted teeth. 

Shawna sighed dramatically, plopping herself down on top of his desk. “Lassie, I’m booooored,” She whined, her face scrunched up. “I need projects.” 

“She’s not kidding,” Gus said, scowling. “And we all know what happens when she doesn’t have anything to do.” 

Immediately, Lassiter’s eyes widened. “Did you steal my car again?” He said, his voice embarrassingly high as he jumped up. Shawna just rolled her eyes in return. 

“Course not. You can’t do the same thing twice in a row.” 

“I swear to God, Shawna…” 

“Swear you’re going to give me a case?” She grinned cheekily, pushing aside paperwork so she coud fully seat herself on his desk. 

“You know,” Lassiter replied between gritted teeth, “there are chairs for a _reason._” 

“You inviting me to sit down, Lassie?” Her eyes lit up, but before he could correct her (because he didn’t need her, he _didn’t_), she called over to Gus, “Grab a chair!” Gus shrugged his shoulders and slid a rolling chair towards her, which she effortlessly slid into from her seat on the desk. “So,” she said, her face comically solemn as she resting her chin on the tips of her fingers. “You need my unending wisdom?” 

“Spencer, if you don’t…” 

“Actually Shawna, we just got a break,” Juliet cut in, and Shawna swiveled her chair to face her. 

“Ooh, we’ve got suspects!” 

“We’ve got a _lead,_” She said, smiling affectionately at her--a stark contrast to Lassiter’s own mind. “Has the chief talked to you about it?” 

At this, Shawna scowled. “No, I’ve been…” 

Immediately she perked up, a grin lighting up her entire face. It was downright _unsettling_, especially since Lassiter had no idea why she was so manic.   
Then there was the distinct thud of workboots (steel-toed, Lassiter noted), and a man confidently walking past the Sherry’s desk, which had her halfway out of her seat. 

Shawna leaped forward, her grin becoming more of a full body glow as she ran towards him. “Riggsy!” She squealed, with such girlishness Lassiter didn’t think he had ever seen her like this. (And he wasn’t annoyed that there was another facet to the ever elusive Shawna Spencer that he didn't know about--he _wasn’t_).

She actually jumped onto him, her legs easily wrapping around his waist as he lifted her in turn. “Shawnee!” He laughed, holding her as tight as she was holding him and glowing much the same way, even if Shawna’s glow was warmer and golden and how could an invisible glow be _golden?_

There was a roiling in his gut, and it wasn’t until his pencil snapped that he noticed how tightly he had been gripping it. Immediately, his head jerked up, and relief flooded him when he saw the Juliet had already gone over to the newcomer, who had yet to put down Shawna down, and dang it, was that really necessary? 

But turned out, Lassiter wasn’t getting off so easy. Because Gus was still standing by his desk, with a cat caught the canary grin. “Lassie,” He gasped, “are you jealous?” 

“Guster,” Lassiter growled, glaring down at the toxin report. “I am _not_...” 

“Because you don’t need to be. That’s her _cousin_.” 

Lassiter’s head whipped up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Cousin?” 

“Yeah,” Gus replied, shrugging his shoulders, with such a knowing smile that Lassiter wanted to slap it off. “They’ve always been close. Actually,” He replied, actually bouncing on his toes, “when they were little--” 

“Gus!” The two snapped at him, wearing eerily identical expressions--a crinkled nose and scrunched lips, the perfect mix of annoyance and desperation, and just a hint of that aggravating, rambunctious personality that never failed to get on his nerves. And there were two of them?

"So, cousins," Lassiter said, his voice flat. 

“Right!” Shawna finally jumped down, her messy bun askew from her excitement. “Riggsy, meet Lassie!” 

“Lassiter,” He cut in tersely, and it wasn’t until Juliet sharply elbowed him that he reluctantly offered a hand.   
“Well, in that case, Hudson Riggs,” Riggsy--Riggs--replied, clearly not put off by Lassiter’s standoffish behavior as he grinned wildly. God, he really was a Spencer 2.0. “Hudson Riggs.” He grabbed onto Lassiter’s hand with a near bone crushing grip, shaking it so hard Lassiter thought he may actually have dislocated his shoulder. 

Luckily, Lassiter was saved from having to respond in favor of massaging his abused shoulder by Shawna jumping in. “You weren’t supposed to be coming til tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, well, it’s been too long Cuz.” Riggs lazily threw an arm around her shoulders, playfully nudging her with his foot. “Besides, I didn’t have any cases on the docket, so why not?” 

“Wait, hold on. Cases?” Lassiter’s eyes widened, and he unconsciously grabbed onto Juliet for support. 

“Oh, right. I’m a PI,” He grinned, and Lassiter’s heart just about gave out. 

“You’re not…” 

“Psychic?” Riggs finished for him, and at _the exact same time_, he and Shawna pressed their middle finger to their temple and waggled their eyebrows. This caused the two to break out into raucous laughter, and Lassiter didn’t bother listening to the rest of the conversation as she threw her arm around him and lead him out of the station. 

My God, they really were the same person. 

Gus ran to catch up, his shoulder bumping Shawna’s, before looking back and fixing Lassiter with the most aggravating smirk. Lassiter scowled right back, because _no, he was not relieved that they were cousins._

One Spencer was more than enough. No, not more than enough, more than unbearable, because he would absolutely be fine if she were to drop off the face of the earth. 

“That is the ugliest car I have ever seen,” Hudson said, his lips twitching like he was trying to decide whether to scowl or grin. 

“It’s a company car,” Gus replied, rolling his eyes as he got into the driver’s seat. 

“Can I drive it?” 

“No. _It’s a company car_,” He said, as if those words alone should make his answer obvious. 

“Don’t take it personally. He’s always like this.” Shawna slid into the backseat, conceding her appointed spot in shotgun since, admittedly, her more lithe body fit easier into the back than Hudson’s bulk. Plus, she liked sprawling out across the seat, much to Gus’s chagrin--in fact, it may have been because of Gus’s chagrin. 

“Well, we’ll just have to loosen you up!” Hudson reached across the console to jostle Gus’s shoulder, which earned him a scowl. “We were getting you there when we were in Mexico…” 

“Which is why I’m never going back to Mexico!” 

“We’ll get him back there.” Shawna winked at Hudson conspiratorially, and propped her legs up on the middle console--which caused Gus to none too gently shove her feet off. “Ow!” She huffed, lips drawn down into a pout. 

“_Company car._” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shawna replied, waving him off. “Now, are you going to tell me why you _insisted_ we meet Hudson at the station?” 

“Nope,” Gus replied, immediately brightening. “But don’t worry, I got what I wanted.”


	9. Feelings Comes and Feelings Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been a hot minute since I've posted--I had to take a hiatus from a lot of things for awhile. I can't promise I'll be super consistent, but fingers crossed!

Hudson slowly turned around, an eyebrow raised as he took in the office. “Nice digs,” he said, his lips quirked up in a half smile. “I mean, it’s no rusted Suburban, but it’ll do.” 

Shawna laughed, the skin around the corner of her eyes crinkling as her eyes danced with genuine joy. “Who would have thought, huh? An actual office? No more sketchy motel rooms for us.” 

“Well, hey now, don’t ditch the sketchy hotel rooms just yet. I mean, this is nice and all, but I’m not completely sure I’m going to be able to work without a broken soda machine around the corner.” 

“Then I guess you’re in luck.” She grinned, sashaying to the back room and dramatically sweeping her arm out to reveal the treasure that was the scuffed up soda machine she bought for fifty books from a motel that was being foreclosed on.

"No way!" Hudson grinned as he walked over. "Does it work?"

"Of course it does. See?" She stood on her tiptoes to grab the fifty cents that was always on top of the machine,and then inserted it. "What do you want?"

"Coke," He replied, and she punched in B4, and then gave it solid kick to the side. The can fell with a klunk, and she smiled slightly apologetically when she handed it over.

"Might be a bit shaken up."

"_Probably,_" Gus scoffed. "I ruined my best shirt the last time you got me a damn coke. We could just get soda out of the box like normal people."

"Oh, come on, Gus," Shawna replied, her lips turned downward in a pout. "Ole Faithful adds charm."

"Ole Faithful?" Hudson asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Shawna only nodded her head in response, already prancing over to the desk. "So you wanna see the death note?"

"Of course." Hudson pressed his lips into a straight line, all traces of mirth gone.  
"Did you run a handwriting analysis?"

She shook her head. "We don't have a small enough number of suspects, and it doesn't match the handwriting of anyone I know."

"You sure? I mean, I know you got that crazy memory and all, but…"

"I'm sure." She sounded resigned instead of annoyed, clearly disappointed by the lack of leads.

"Fingerprints?"

"Nothing."

"So he's not an amateur."

"Obviously not," Gus snapped. "Other than me and Henry, he's probably the only guy in town who knows Shawna was an agent."

"And there's no way this isn't some old teammate pulling a prank?"

"No way," She replied, shaking her heas vigorously. 

"So, stakeout?" Hudson said, and he sounded gleeful.

"Something like that," Shawna said with a smirk. "He obviously wants something, or he wouldn't have come to us before outing me. He hasn't done anything violent--"

"Yet," Gus cut in.

"Okay, yet," Shawna conceded with a roll of her eyes. "So now we wait him out."

Hudson groaned, even though he was marginally better at waiting than Shawna. Marginally. "The most boring part," He whined. With a drawn out sigh, he cracked open his can of coke…

...which blew up in his face, and he found himself in a soaking wet tee shirt. "So," he said, his voice slightly strained, "where are we bunking? I think I might need to swap out shirts."

Shawna laughed, and Hudson pulled a face at her. “What?” She replied innocently. “We can bunk here.” 

“I am _not_ sleeping here,” Gus shot back. He curled his lip distastefully as he looked around at his surroundings, and _would it kill Shawna to clean up every once in a while?_ “And you’re not taking my shirts.” 

“Why would I take your shirt?” Hudson replied, eyes so wide it could only be interpreted as faux innocence. 

“You know damn well why,” Gus snapped. It was part of the reason he refused to go back to Mexico. 

“I did pack my own clothes, you know.” Hudson sighed dramatically, draping himself over the couch by the window, as if Gus’ lack of faith in him was physically weighing him down. “I’m an _adult._” 

“To be fair, you once wore your Marine’s uniform to a five year old’s princess birthday party because you forgot to do laundry,” Shawna said, smirking over at him. 

“Traitor.” He narrowd his eyes at her, sighing again and covering his eyes with his hands. “I don’t even know why I bother coming here.” 

“Because you love me and you love mystery. Now get up, you big lug.” Shawna poked him none too gently in his side, and continued to do so until he finally sat up with a belaboured groan. 

“Alright, hotshot, where are we staying?” 

“My place, I guess,” Shawna replied with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“Great! I call the couch!” 

Gus glared over at Hudson, even if there was no reason to--he and Shawna had platonically been sharing a bed since they were six. “And _no wearing my shirts._” 

“Sure thing boss.” Hudson got up and clapped Gus on the shoulder. “Home sweet home, then?” 

“Home sweet home,” Shawna agreed. 

It was funny, how quickly her apartment seemed to change. On the surface, it was exactly the same as it was a few day’s ago, when Abner had come to pick her up for their date. But there were little things that were different--there was pepper spray in the drawer of her bedside table, and while her tazor was still tucked away in the safe she didn’t know the combination to, she _had_ pushed aside the boxes of shoes and trinkets that had been hiding it so Gus could get to it as quickly as possible. Even if the safe made her feel a little queasy whenever she opened her closet, it made Gus feel better. Maybe one day she would even open it for herself. She was working up to it. 

There were other things, too, that were different. She had bought blackout curtains for all her windows, and Shawna could have sworn there was an aura of sadness around the whole place. Her dad would have scoffed and said something about how there was no “aura,” just evidence that indicated the state of mind of the inhabitant, but Shawna knew better. She could feel it. 

Still, it did seem a little bit brighter when she lead Gus and Hudson inside, plopping her keys in the bowl by the door before wilding flourishing around her. “Mi casa es su casa.” 

Hudson whistled as he stepped inside, surveying his surroundings for a brief moment before making a beeline for the windows. After religiously looking out each one, he turned around and frowned at Shawna. “There’s some pretty good sight lines out there. The balcony the building over…” 

“Is owned by Mrs. Haver, a lovely eight-three year old woman who owns six cats, all of which have extremely sharp claws. Gus swears he got an infection from one of them.” 

“It was a deep cut, Shawna! And the infection site was swollen!” 

Shawna just shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, it’s fine.” 

“Cats aren’t exactly my first choice for defense,” Hudson replied drily. 

“You clearly have not met these cats,” Gus grumbled. 

Hudson spared Gus a glance before turning back to Shawna, hands on his hips. “It’s still a good spot for a sniper.” 

“Well, what do you want me to do, rip out the window and personally rebuild the wall? Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got blackout curtains, and on the plus side, if the guy has x ray vision and the ‘perfect sight line’ is too much of a temptation, it’ll draw him out anyways.” Shawna plopped down on the couch, draping her arm across the back as she grinned up at them. “So who’s up for charades?” 

“Maybe later. I have to walk the perimeter first.” Hudson saluted her lazily, and she responded with a salute in kind. “Be back in a minute.” 

Hudson shut the door behind, him, and for a moment there was a complete silence. Surprisingly, it was broken by Gus, who’s eyebrows were furrowed. “So,” Gus said slowly, “you’re thinking about something.” 

“What do you mean?” Shawna asked. 

“You’ve got your thinking face on.” 

“My _thinking face_ on? Seriously?”   
“What! It’s a real thing!” 

“If you say so,” she said. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had lost her covert touch, or Gus knew her too well for her to ever succeed at hiding from him. “Okay, look, I’ve been thinking. The most obvious answer is that the unsub is from an old case where we didn’t catch the bad guy, right?” 

“Right?” 

“And Occam’s Razor dictates that the most simple and obvious answer is the right one, right?” 

“Basically.” 

“So that’s probably what it is. What he is.” She paused, her eyebrows drawn together. 

“But?” 

She huffed, burying her face in her hand. “It just doesn’t _feel_ right.” 

If it were anyone else, Gus would have scoffed at them. He would have demanded that they follow logic rather than “feelings.” But Shawna was different. In all their years of friendship, Gus had learned that Shawna had extraordinary instincts, and in later years they had saved his life. So if Shawna said it didn’t feel right...well, that was significant. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So it doesn’t feel right. What does feel right?”

She groaned and lifted her head from her hands. “I don’t _know._” 

“Okay, so what’s the game plan? Stick to the stakeout? Wait for his next move so you can build a profile?” 

She smiled wanely at him and nodded her head. “When did you become a criminal profiler?” 

“PI,” He corrected. “Believe it or not, I have some credentials.” 

“Yeah, you do,” She replied softly. 

“Alright,” he said, walking over to her massive collection of movies. “What are we watching tonight?” 

“Hm.” She tapped her chin, and then lit up with a grin. “How about Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure?” 

He smiled and nodded his head. “Time traveling phone booths it is.”


End file.
